When I get to school in the morning, the entire student body is in celebration mode.

They're congregating in groups, sharing details of what they've heard, and taping Welcome Back posters to the walls. Even Emma's locker is decorated with red and white balloons, representing our high school colors. Metallic confetti dusts the floor and sticks to the bottom of shoes, leaving tiny sparkles scattered across the linoleum like thousands of fallen stars. Someone must have dumped an entire bag in front of her locker.

"Crazy, huh? It's like a circus around here." I'm stuffing my book bag into my locker when the voice takes me by surprise.

Mey Hsiang leans against the steel door, her dark hair pulled into a half ponytail.

I glance at the party favors around us. "Good news travels fast. But I have no idea if Emma's coming back to school or not. We don't even know what happened yet. What if she's—" I pause, unsure if I should finish. But this is Mey. "What if she's messed up or something?"

The texts Emma sent didn't sound that way, but maybe it was meant to cover up something she didn't want me to know. To prove everything will be alright.

It's impossible for me to interpret until I see her for myself. I spent most of the night imagining all of the things she could have been through, and none of the scenarios were pleasant. It's not like Emma was on vacation for six months. She was taken against her will, the blood in her truck proof.

"I've been wondering the same thing. Whatever happened, she'll never be the same. I've seen enough Dateline to know that." Mey gives me a sad smile as the fluorescent lights buzz overhead. "Have you heard anything new?"

"Nope." I close my locker and readjust my books as we begin a slow march down the hall. "Have you seen Smith? He usually stops by after his morning workout."

"Last I heard, he was meeting Kobe in the library. Something about sharing science notes. They have a quiz today and that boy can't afford another D." She rolls her dark eyes. "Did you hear Penn State is interested in him?"

"I did. That's fantastic. I know that's where he wants to go."

"I just wish I could go with him. But nooo, I have to wait another year." She releases a forlorn sigh. "It's gonna suck when you guys are gone. Who am I going to eat lunch with? Or sit next to at football games? Will I even go to prom?" That last part comes out with dramatic flair, as if she's performing in one of the plays she always snags the lead in.

"I'm sure Kobe will come back to take you to prom. There's no way he'd let you go solo your senior year." Kobe Newman may be the class clown, but he takes his relationship with Mey more seriously than I've seen him take anything. Even football.

The day stretches on and I don't see Smith until lunch, when he staggers into the cafeteria late and plops into a chair at our table.

Lance Belavich glances up from his soggy slice of pizza and tosses the blond hair from his eyes. "Hey, buddy. Where ya been? They're almost out of pie."

"I'm not hungry." Smith turns to me, his expression apologetic. "Sorry I didn't stop by your locker this morning. I met up with Kobe then made fliers for the student council fundraiser. When I was finished, Principal Dafonte asked to speak with me."

I bite the inside of my cheek. "Why?"

He leans closer, and lowers his voice. "To ask about Emma."

I can't hide my surprise. "What did she want to know?"

"If I knew anything more about what's going on."

"And?"

"I said I didn't, other than what her dad told you." A frown creases his forehead. "Apparently, she spoke with Emma's parents and they're hoping to bring her home on Saturday."

Saturday. That's two days away. In my head, I break down all the things I'll have to get through before she's back. The classes I won't be able to concentrate in, the soccer practices I'll have to force myself to attend. Two nights I'm certain I won't be getting any sleep.

Kobe leans across the table, a blueberry bagel crumbling from his lips. "Why are you whispering? Is it a secret?" Mey elbows him in the ribs and he slumps back in his seat, flicking a fallen blueberry from the fake-wood laminate.

"She didn't say it was a secret, but still," Smith says, glancing over his shoulder. "They've already made a spectacle of the hallways, and we don't even know the full story."

"But it's still good news that she's coming home," Lance says, fixing Smith with a look.

"Of course, it is. But don't you think we should have more details before we throw a party? What if Emma wants to keep it low-key? What if she's not in the mood for a celebration? What if she's —"

"Not the same?" I interrupt. They turn and stare. "Mey and I were talking about that this morning. Just because Emma escaped, or was released, or whatever it was that happened, that doesn't mean we get to decide how she returns to Menteuse. I think we should let her settle back in before we take matters into our own hands."

Smith gives a slow nod like he agrees, but his mind is somewhere else. "Principal Dafonte did say something weird though. She said Emma's release will depend on her withdrawal symptoms."

"Her withdrawal symptoms?" Mey looks around the table.

Kobe shrugs. "Maybe they had to sedate her."

"I doubt they'd call that withdrawal. Maybe there's more going on than what we know?" Lance suggests, scratching the back of his head.

Smith tenses in his chair. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Maybe she was involved in something we didn't know about? Something—illegal."

I shoot Lance a dirty look.

"What?" he asks with an injured glare.

"This is Emma we're talking about. She doesn't do drugs. Besides, the school tests athletes. They would have never let her play soccer if they thought she was dirty."

Lance shrugs and takes another bite of pizza, while Smith picks at an indentation on the table before lifting his eyes. "Have any of you heard from her besides Arbor?"

I can't read his tone. I'm not sure if I'm imagining it, but it almost sounds like an accusation. Like he's upset she hasn't reached out to him, but instead reached out to me.

Everyone shakes their heads.

I slouch back in the seat and press my spine to the hard plastic, letting my thumb slide across the inside of my wrist. For a long time, that spot was tender. And still, every once in a while, I feel the pinch of the tattoo needle. Drilling into my skin, leaving its mark.

It's probably all in my head. The phantom memory of a pain that's no longer there. Usually, the occurrence happens after an amputation, but mine was self-inflicted. Instead of cutting something away, what I did left behind a gift. A symbol meant to represent me and my best friend, binding us together for the rest of our lives.

I've been in this weird limbo since Emma left, where the inside of me has changed even though the outside looks the same. Our entire lives, she's been the one person I could rely on when life got too tough, or my emotions spiraled out of control. Which, not very long ago, happened all the time. Emma was always there for me.

Until she wasn't.

I only hope I can be strong for her the way she's been for me. I owe her that much—and more.